Ride Or Die
by KKBELVIS
Summary: 11X17 Red Meat. Season Eleven spoiler warnings. Some hurt. Some comfort. Some humor. Some worried Dean. Some Dean pov. Some loopy Sam. Some hero Sam. Some Sam pov. Some caring big brother Dean. Some coloring in-between the lines as well as some coloring outside of the lines. That about sums it up. LOL.
RIDE OR DIE

By: Karen B

Summary: 11X17 Red Meat. Season Eleven spoiler warnings. Some hurt. Some comfort. Some humor. Some worried Dean. Some Dean pov. Some loopy Sam. Some hero Sam. Some Sam pov. Some caring big brother Dean. Some coloring in-between the lines as well as some coloring outside of the lines. That about sums it up. LOL

Disclaimer: Not the owner.

 **"It ain't about how hard you hit, it's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much you can take and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done"** ~ **Rocky Balboa**

 **One step. One punch. One round at a time ~ Rocky Balboa (Creed)**

AN: Just wanted to slow this episode down a bit. So awesome. Thus a few snippets of time below. Thank you always for reading.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

Maybe I'd gotten cocky, or sloppy, or maybe I was just completely engrossed with finding my knife to pay better attention. Why didn't I pay better attention? I wanted to warn Sam, but I wasn't fast enough. Even if I was fast enough there was nowhere for Sam to go, and nothing I could do about it now. Nothing but stand and watch in surprise as the werewolf I was just about to finish off pulled the trigger.

The room fell strangely silent, and that gunshot registered as little more than a smokey puff of air in my ringing ears. I watched in slow motion as hot steel twisted a short distance through air, blew through flannel, tearing through skin, ripping through veins, and splattering blood.

The high volocity impact knocked Sam forcefully down to his knees.

I couldn't take that bullet back, so I did the only other thing I could do. Rage igniting, I made damn friggin' sure that Werewolf was dead before Sam finished falling.

A split second of panic left me frozen in my spot staring at Sammy. He lay on the filthy cabin floor gulping for air, pulling his knees toward his chest, breaths coming fast and hard and his face already drenched in sweat.

Dad's voice sounded off in my head like it always did during times like these: _"_ The best bullet is one that will punch a perfect hole through the target every time."

Time accelerated from zero to sixty, but I forced the panic down. Turned it into cool, calculated calm as I shot across the cabin, feet barely touching the floor, and hit my knees next to Sam.

He stared up at me wide-eyed and tried to say something, but his breath caught and the words came out as nothing more than a loud groan. The front of his shirt was already blood soaked, shoulders bowed up off the floor, and hands opening and closing in mid-air.

"Shhh, shhh. Dude, you got shot," I whispered.

He almost laughed, nodding his head slightly.

I leaned in close examining the bullet's entrance point. It was a nice size hole, and I swallowed back the bile in my throat. "Seen worse," I said, my voice wavering. Sam's hands began to tremble, and I quickly took him by the wrists. "Make a fist," I instructed. He did as I guided it to the wound, then cupped his left over that. "Firm pressure," I said, adding my hand to the top of the pile, pressing in and down hard.

"Gah," Sam gagged.

"Sorry, sorry," I growled seeing the blood bubbling and spreading outward more. "Sam, you know I have to check to see if it went straight through, " I said, already pretty certain what I'd find having calculated distance, person size, and weapon calibure. This would be no through-and- through wound, but I had to check anyway.

"Don't think so," he mumbled my very thoughts, his body joining his hands in trembling.

"I'll take it easy on you," I tired to assure him.

"Good," he said in a gravely tone, eyelids fluttering, head rocking back.

"Sammy." I patted the side of his cheek.

He looked up at me, but didn't say anything.

"Stay the hell with me," I muttered, rolling him carefully to his side.

He didn't even react to the movement as I passed a hand over his back. His shirt was sweat soaked, but as suspected there was no exit wound. I gently rolled him to his back, biting into my lip knowing what I had to do.

Sam groaned and raised a hand up, blood dripping from his fingertips.

"Right here. I'm right here." I quickly took his feebly shaking hand, and guided it once again down over the top of the other. "Keep both hands on the wheel, pal."

He gave a weak laugh, the action causing him to curl further upward, sending blood squishing out faster.

"Easy." I wanted to pull him to me, but I didn't dare move him again. Could set that piece of shrapnel on the move.

"De," he choked out the first two letters of my name like he'd been clotheslined. _And hadn't he?_

"It's okay," I soothed gripping his shoulder tight.

"Y-yeah," he stammered, blood loss and trauma turning his body into a mini earthquake, he was shaking so hard.

Releasing his shoulder, I clamped my fingers down on his neck at his pulse point. His heartbeat struck fast and hard agaisnt my fingertips, and his breathing was coming even faster.

"Slow down," I murmured. "Slow breaths."

Sam slit his eyes, staring up at me - dull and vacant. "Spinning," he mumbled taking in a ragged breath and holding it caged in his lungs. His skin suddenly turned worm-gray and his eyes rolled.

"No, no, no." I jostled him harder then I wanted to rocking his head side- to- side. "You do not get to pass out," I said with zero tolerance in my voice.

Sam blinked once, then finally took a deep breath, but it just whooshed back out forcing him to immediately drag in another and another.

"Won't," he panted.

"You can do a better job then that, Samuel," I said sternly.

His eyes popped open. And I was certain he would have yelled at me for the missuse of his name, but he was too busy concentrating on taking in quick, short, inadequate pants of air.

I didn't want to leave his side. Not for a single second. I was scared and wanted to vomit, but held it back. The sooner I acted the better Sam's chances would be, plus we needed to get the hell out of here fast. I gave a quick glance to the two victims still strung up. The man was just coming around, the woman still passed out and looking in way worse shape, but they would have to wait. Sam came first. I got up and darted for my duffle, breaking the zipper in my rush to open it and jammed my hands inside.

I heard Sam gasp behind me.

"Pressure! Keep the pressure on," I called out, fumbling through the bag, and quickly finding the med-kit. The cold steel box felt more like a stick of butter in my sweaty hands and I gripped it tighter racing back over to Sam. Didn't need to drop it and spill all the lifesaving contents. I had to get the fear inside me under control. _No time for this shit Dean._ Sam's life depended on it.

"All right, All right." I knelt by his side.

Ignorning the rattle of chains and moans from the man and woman - who had regained consciousness - I got down to the dirty business of removing a bullet from my brother's gut.

"This is going to hurt like hell," I said in all honesty, flicking my lighter and sterilizing the tweezers.

He gave a low, edgy moan knowing exactly what he was in for.

"Here," I grabbed a roll of gauze and pushed it between his lips. "Might need that."

Sam closed his eyes and turned his head away in total trust and abandon.

It sent a chill spiking through me. Sam's a full-fleged adult, but in that second all I saw was the five-year-old boy. I took in a calming breath. There was no way to stick a pair of tweezers into a hole in someone's skin gently, they always pulled the flesh apart further making the hole bigger. Though I tried to avoid that as I carefully eased the tip inside of Sam.

For a spilt second I don't think he felt a thing, but his low moans grew higher, and if it weren't for the gauze he bit into his screams would be shrill and loud. He was in white-hot-crushing pain, and his hands and entire body shook worse. I could hear his boot heels tapping against the floor, but kudos to baby brother. He didn't dare arch his back, kick his legs out wildly, flail his arms, or try to roll away from me. Any other person would have been clinging from the ceiling by now.

Instead, Sam held steady, eye's squeezed shut, and fighting to let me do my job.

I sucked in a breath and smelled the sickening scent of blood growing stronger, but pressed in further through skin and muscle desperate to locate the bullet.

Felt like a hours, but in reality it was only a minute, two at most, before I brushed against metal and latched onto it. I squeezed it between the tweezer's points strangly thinking about that scene in Mrs. Doubtfire where Williams and Brosnan make a pincer to retrieve William's fake dentures out of a glass of water where Williams had dropped them. _Dude, focus._ I kept at it. Damn thing. Man, it was wedged in good.

 _Got it._

 _Crap._

 _Lost it._

 _Got it again._

 _Squish-squish._

 _Don't gag._

Sam's breathing changed, becoming more unsteady, every inch of him trying to fight his body's natural repsonse to pain. I didn't know how he was doing it. Any longer and Sam was going to pass out, and once he did I doubted he'd come around for a long while if at all. I needed him responsive. No way I was getting him and two other injured people out of here by myself. _Hurry, Dean. Fucking hurry_.

"All right, all right," I kept talking, trying to let him know I was there doing all I could. Warm, wet blood oozed over my fingers and flowed out the sides of the bullethole. "Come on, come on."

I grit my teeth in reslove and closed my eyes trying to drown out Sam's agony. Didn't help. Besides, I didn't need to see anyway, could feel my way. I'd done this many times before. Mostly for dad and a few other hunters. They all seeemd so effortless compared to this. Everything was always different when it came to Sammy. I inched further inward, angling the tweezers down, hating the slurping sound that action made.

 _Focus, Dean. Focus. Don't get sick._

 _Forget how much he's hurting._

 _Don't listen to the grunts and screams behind the gauze._

 _Pay no attention to how hard he's fighting through the pain._

 _Don't panic. Keep it together. Keep calm._

"Almost got it, almost got it," I mumbled absently, pushing harder. Fucking thing was as slippery as a bar of soap.

Listening to Sam's cries sent goosebumps breaking out all over my body. I swore I could feel his heart racing, pumping his blood faster out the hole. I paused a moment to breathe. _Never mind that._ I scolded myself. _Just get the bullet._

"There," I muttered, finally getting a good grip on the sucker. "Okay, okay." I squeezed the tweezers together firmly. "Here we go, here we go," I warned, working extra hard to keep my voice calm and steady for Sam's sake, though he didn't seem to hear me, so caught up in the pain.

I yanked upward, felt like a fourteen-pound bowling ball as I dragged it through his flesh ignoring the disgusting sucking sound as it popped out. "Look at that, look at that, huh?" I announced proudly and with relief holding the bullet I just delivered up for us both to see.

Sam dropped his head back and to the side spitting the gauze roll out, completly uninterested. His breathing was so rapid I was afraid he would pass out. Hell, I wanted to pass out having caused him so much more pain. But I needed him in the game.

"Hey, hey" I chuckled nervously. "You know what?" I questioned, trying to distract us both. "We're going to keep that." Still keeping it trapped between the point of the tweezers, I carefully transferred the bullet between thumb and forefinger not wanting to chance loosing it, then stuffed it deep in my jacket pocket. "That one's going to be a little momento...we'll laugh about it some other time," I promised lamely with an everything-will-be-brighter-tomorrow tone in my voice.

"Yeah," Sam gasped.

"Guy's, she ain't doing so good," the man behind me drew my attention from Sam.

"Go. I got it," Sam said, his voice raising in volume, focusing quickly back on the task at hand - saving people, hunting things.

I wanted to dress his wound myself, but he was right. There was no time to waste. We had two injured and freaked out people, and we needed to get out of here fast.

I gave Sam the compression dressing, confident he could handle that while I helped the victims.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

It happened again. Twice in twenty-four hours. I'd gotten cocky, or sloppy, or maybe I was just too completely engrossed with being choked out by Corbin to pay better attention. The room fell strangely silent, and the gunshot registered as little more than a smokey puff of air in my ringing ears.

I lay there on the Mr. Clean floor. Frozen. Aware of the dead, freshly turned werewolf next to me. I inched up, a bit dazed, but with it enough to note my very much alive and, very much a badass little brother standing there staring vacantly at me, chest rising and falling rapidly.

Behind him, Michelle sat on the floor in a heap crying hysterically.

I was surprised into shock. "It took you long enough," I blurted.

"Interesting twists and turns along the way." Sam answered, pressing his lips together and slightly bobbling side-to side.

His skin was whiter than a White Walkers, and fresh blood seeped through his shirt. Seeped hell. He was a walking bloodbank, and I don't think even Sam was aware of how much his body trembled like a jittery coffee adict.

Things went from zero to sixty again.

"Guh," Sam grunted as the rock he must have jammed all that pain under suddenly rolled away along with his balance and his legs slid out from under him, like friggin Bambi on ice.

I got up to my feet knowing what was coming. "Sam." I shot forward, barely catching him in my arms before he could hit the floor and injure himself further. "A little help here, Michelle," I screeched fighting us both back up to our feet. I gave a quick glance over my shoulder. Michelle now lay in the fetal postion. "Shit, " I turned. " Need some help here," I yelled, my voice echoing down the empty hall."Dude," I locked eyes with Sam. "How'd you get here?"

Sam didn't answer, seemingly in a trance-like state. "Son of a bitch," I cursed, getting a close up look at all the extra bleeding my brother had done since I'd last seen him. "What happened?" I gave him a little shake.

Sam took in a deep, long breath and said, "Corbin, choked, woke, the others, hiding, fighting, killing, their truck, Impala." Sam boiled it all down and surprisingly it added up. "Saved your ass." He took in another long breath and let it out slowly, "Done now," he stated, going all elastic and melting toward the floor.

"Oh, no, no, we are not." I kept him standing, pressing a hand to his wound. "We are so not throwing in the towel after all this." I closed my eyes against the wetness of blood, and forced Sam upright aware of both our trembling legs."I am not looking at you lying all dead on the floor again, man." My throat filled with lumps, lumps too big to swallow as I held him close.

Sam looked at me, jaw tight. "You...you thought I was dead?" he questioned, swallowing down the pain and blinking at me, hardly able to see through the stream of sweat that poured over his eyes.

"Ninety-nine percent thought," I said with a shrug.

"Dean-" He worriedly tried to snatch a handful of my shirt.

"Don't think about it now."I took his hand and held it tight.

Down the long hallway came a loud clanging metal noise and thumping feet headed our way. Sam suddenly jolted involuntarily out of my grasp, heels kicking and pushing agaisnt the floor fighting to keep standing. Blood filled his nose and trickled over his lips and it freaked me out further.

"You're a super hero, buddy," I said in awe, trying to wipe the look of concern off his face.

"Not, Batman," he slurred, sucking in huge gasps of air.

"Yeah, you're more the Rocky type."

Sam nodded, but at that point I don't think he was following along anymore. Looking up I yelled, "About friggin' time. No one heard a gunshot?" I asked the team of white coats that now surrounded us, trying to keep control of my anger.

Sam mumbled something else, but I couldn't understand him. I gave a quick explain to the attending doctor, helping to ease Sam down onto the arriving gurney never letting go of his hand. "It's over, Sammy."

"Never over," Sam said, letting go of my hand as they wheeled him into a room.

I tisked. He was right. Damn kid always could follow the bouncing ball even when he was drunk, whether from alcohol or blood loss.

"This time it almost was, little brother," I whispered, standing outside the door thinking how it was going to be tricky as hell to explain my whole act five, scene three to him.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

For a moment I'd stopped moving. Twigs snapped, leaves rustled, birds sang, and blood squished. I cocked my head and squinted trying to see through the mist and trees.

I was cold...too cold...and getting colder. Could tell my core tempature was coming down, decreasing BP, increasing heart rate, disorientation and confusion setting in. Unable to judge time or distance.

I'd been stumbling along for miles, dropped to my hands and knees more than once. I was sweating hard, breathing harder, and my brain felt clogged. The more I moved, the more I bled, the weaker I got.

What was I doing out here? Bleeding out, of course, but what else?

I searched for the answer. It should have been so simple, but was completely complex. The one word that should have been the easiest to find - was lost to me. I needed to get somewhere. Help someone. Before it was too late.

I cupped a palm to my gut, but blood still dripped and splashed to the forest floor. Glancing down I watched a snake slither by. It startled me and I nearly took a nose-dive to the dirt trying to avoid stepping on it. Dean would have freaked. He hated snakes more than Indiana Jones hated snakes.

Dean. How could I forget? Dean was about to become werewolf chow and had no clue. Get it together, Sam. Keep moving.

I struggled to follow my own commands, but everything was getting dark, and the five-alarm volcanic fire in my gut had gone nuclear, yet I pushed on. Falling, sliding, banging up against trees and rocks, yet gaining no ground. Wasn't there a truck? A car? _I need to hurry._

"No you don't," someone said, the voice coming off to my right.

I blinked and stared and blinked again. _Did I say that_ out loud?

"Yes. Now go back to being a lazy shit, pal," the person said between munching on a mouthful of food.

I frowned. Everything was white, and shapleless, the voice echoey and watery and muffled. _Creepy sounding._

"Dude, I've been called a lot of things, but creepy sounding sure the hell isn't one of them. Now werewolves...werewolves they're creepy."

I slammed my eyes shut and foggy memories floated around in my head. Yellow teeth, bloody hearts being ripped to shreds. I couldn't breath, my throat being squeezed, the thunk of steel hitting flesh, dust falling through the cracks of floorboards, a strange truck, a cabin, the familar growl of a car's engine, the creak of a door, the echo of a gunshot, knives drawn, Dean dying at the hand of a werewolf, birds chirpping. I had to get to Dean, and I couldn't. That scared the crap out of me, and I pushed myself to move.

"Shit," I gasped loudly at the indescribable pain in my belly.

"Whao, whoa, whoa." Boots scrambled across the floor and the creepy someone was there holding me down by the shoulders.

I choked and gagged, rising up further. Forcing myself onward. Never giving in. Even when giving in seemed to be the only thing left to do. Get back on the raging bull. _Ride or die._ Dad's words, not mine, but they always served to surge me on.

"Sam! Breathe. Breathe, Sammy...you're okay...we're okay...just stop. No more riding. Not today," creepy voice said.

 _Getting squeezed, too tight._ I flailed, head rocking back and forth.

"No...you're not." A hand came up to the side of my head and held me still. "Not anymore. It's just the drugs they have you on, man. Just the drugs, Sam."

Kind fingers ran through my hair, and I opened my eyes. Fading sunlight coming in through the sloted blinds bounced around the room. I was lying in a bed. Four white walls, gray curtains, a nightstand, IV pole, half emptied bag of blood, full bag of clear fluids, tubing running into both my arms. I stared up into worried green eyes. The worried green eyes stared back.

"You're edging toward hyperventilating. Try to relax, little brother."

"Can't," I rasped looking away. The heat of pain was now in every part of my body, and my busy thoughts mixed and clouded and spun the universe out of whack.

"Look at me." A hand took me by the chin and turned my head to the right.

"Dean?" I flinched.

"Right." Dean paused. "Say my name again just to be certain?"

I stared up at my brother. _Damn I'm so thirsty._

"You can't have anything yet, you havn't been out of surgery long enough," Dean said sadly.

I shook my head. Did I say that out loud again?

Dean laughed at me. What was so friggin' funny?

"Dude, I'll tell you what's so friggin' funny. Whatever flavorful cocktail they've pumped into your veins has you shadow boxing yourself."

"Yourself," I echoed my brother who was still talking in that creepy underwater voice of his.

"You going to do that for me, Sam?"

"Do wha'?" I panted and winced, trying to sit up again.

"Focus, man, focus. Say my name," Dean demanded hands landing on my shoulders and pressing down. Why was Dean so frustrated?

I struggled a moment to find my breath, concentrated on allowing it to deepen and soften, feeling my heart contract and expand with each pulse, the electrical flow of blood speeding through my viens. Moving past the layers of pain, separating strength from weakness.

Dad had taught us that tool. How to meditate and channel the spirit. Relax, calm, gather every scrap of energy and use it to focus beyond the limitations of the body, boosting yourself back into the game.

He'd called the spiritual techinique damn near supernatural and it had saved all our lives on more than one occasion.

"Name, Sam."

"J-jerk," I hissed. Damn my throat hurt.

"That's my boy. You grounded now, bitch?"

I nodded and slowly let my head sink down deeper onto the pillows behind me.

Dean returned the nod and drew his hands away and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Now listen up, Sam, we are fine," he began. "Well, you're mostly fine. We're in the hopsital and-"

"Love the hippie house," I chuckled and smiled sloppily up at Dean wondering where the pain went.

Dean drew back frowning. "I said hospital, Sammy, not hippie." he rolled his eyes at me. "Man, what'd they put in that IV?" Dean glared at the bag looking like he wanted to punch it.

"Fruityloops," I giggled manically.

"Fruityloops?" Dean snorted, his attention back on me.

"Yep. Want more." I smacked my lips

Dean chuckled, "You, my brother, can be punched, kicked, bit, thrown, choked, stabbed, and hit upside the head with a frying pan..."

"Shot," I broke in groggily.

"Yes, shot." Dean shivered hard. "Point is, Samantha -"

"Sammy."

"Okay," he smiled. "Point is, Sammy..."

"...I'm a badass?" I helped him out.

"Epic understatement."

"Worried about you," I said studying Dean more closely.

"What? Why?" he said, looking surprised.

"You're shaky."

"Low blood sugar."

I continued to read between his lines. "Dean, what happened?" I asked in a low even tone, wincing in pain again.

"Nothing happened."

I glared at him with my x-ray vision. "Something's off."

"Well, number one...watching you slump in and out of consciousness drooling out the side of your mouth while sitting in that," he waived a hand at the uncomfortable looking chair at the side of the bed, "With broken ribs...I'd say that's pretty off."

I blinked at him. _How?_

"Bro, werewolves," he answered my unspoken question.

"Dean," I squeaked. "When did you start reading minds?"

"Sam, you're talking and you can't shut up."

I pondered that a moment, feeling my cracked, dry lips with my fingers.

"Never mind that." Dean grabbed a small tube off the table behind him. He brought the item to my lips. "Chap Stick, pucker up."

I did as I was told, pouting out my lips as far as they would go.

"Good little princess," he teased and set the item back on the table.

I huffed, "And what's number two?" I asked.

"Try to keep up," Dean sighed. "Apparently, back at the cabin Corbin choked you out..." He paused a beat. "While I was out rigging up a sled to drag your ass home," he gave a strange chuckle. "When I got back...I couldn't feel your pulse...you didn't look like you were breathing, but your possum ass was alive and I fucking left you there...alone."

"Told you, he choked me out," I said the memory floating out of the fog.

"Disservice to understatment," Dean growled. "You were mostly dead. I'd say that gives me the priviledge of being..." he made air quotes. "Off. Now just go back to sleep."

"Did you die?" I rubbed at my tierd eyes.

"What?" Dean shrieked. "No, Sam, I thought you did."

I dropped my hand to the bed and looked up at Dean totally confused. Even though my eyesight was blurry I could see he'd gone two shades of white.

"Sam, I'm the one who thought you were dead...you're the confused one...now go back to sleep," he ordered figiting uneasily next to me.

"Dean, I remember hearing someone talking about how you died and they brought you back."

"You were dreaming."

"Not a dream."

The look on Dean's face scared the hell out of me.

"You're going to need more drugs, buddy, you're really messed up," Dean said hitting the call button.

/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/

Sam must have overheard the night nurse's conversation with me while he was still under. Arguing that I needed to be in a hospital bed not a chair. I hit the call button knowing exactly how to put an end to this conversation.

Sam was going to want me to provide a better answer than he was dreaming, and right now I didn't have one.

"Dean, you're going to have to come up with a better explantion than me dreaming."

"That's what happened," I said frowning. Did I say that out loud?

I didn't want to lie, but right now...thoust wasn't about to tell thy baby brother that whilest he had runneth, and trippeth, and falleth to get hereth to saveth thee, thyself lay convulsing on a floor like some idiotic poisoned Romeo talking to a reaper trying to decide whether to be or not to be.

"That's not what happened," Sam interupted my thoughts. "There's more. Tell me what you did."

"What fools these mortals be," I blurted, droping a major hint without coming clean. _Ha._

"Why are you quoting Shakespear?" Sam quirked a brow at me.

"Nothing. Never mind." I shook my head. Shakespearn tragedies sucked. "Look, here's what's going to happen, Sam," I said pushing the call button again as the nurse hadn't come in, shocked when two seconds later a nurse came in. "About time," I grouched.

She just rolled her eyes at me and with a quick inspection of Sam injected more fun stuff into his IV line.

"Didn't need that," Sam argued sleepily.

I nodded my thanks to nurse-feel-good as she took leave. I mean left.

"Sam, you are perfectly capable of handling yourself in just about any given situatuion. Your strength and endurance know no bounds...but, little brother, whenever your arm guzzles -" I waived a hand at the IV bag. "You're flying high and your oversized brain goes into overdrive."

Sam smiled and stared down at his chest. "Why am I in a blue paper gown?"

"Hippie house," I snickered, happy to be off the subject of 'what thoust did or did not do. "You don't know much do you?" _Good._ Doped up Sam would be creamed turkey on toast for days. Maybe I could figure out a way to tell him by then.

"Know lots of stuff, Dino?"

"Watch it,"I huffed at the nickname he hadn't used since he was three.

"Dean," Sam huffed back, and shivered. "I know we are born with 300 bones, but when we get to be an adult we only have 206."

"Really?" I grabbed an extra blanket off the end of the bed and tucked it around him.

"And I know...I know..." Sam yawned. "I know over 10,00 birds a year die from smashing into windows."

"Huh."I reached behind me for the cold cloth on the nightstand and wiped his brow that had broken out in a cold sweat.

"And did-did you know the state of Florida is bigger than England?" he continued, and I listened, holding the cloth against his forehead. "And that a blue whale's tongue weights more than an elephant, and that an ant can survive falling from a skyscrapper, and that Chuck Norris counted to infinity...twice," Sam panted out of breath, his eyes growing smaller.

"Hey, bro." I scooted up higher on the bed, dropping the cloth and resting a hand on his chest.

He'd gotten quiet and looked whiter than the walls, his hair in disarray. I stared at him intently. He could have died. For real.

"Chatty Kathy, you're not going to get sick now are you?" I frowned down at him.

Sam pressed his lips together tightly.

"This is a kiddie ride compared to what you just got off of," I joked weakly, worriedly rubbing up and down his arm.

"Hate kiddie rides," he pouted.

"I remember," I said, nabbing the Styrofoam cup off the stand. "Never could get you on the Merry-Go-Round." I snickered. "You're allowed a few ice chips now." I spoonfed him a small amount off the plastic spoon.

"Mmmm," Sam hummed, hand flailing up to grab the cup from me. "Capable of that," he said, but his hand flopped back down to the bed.

"C'mon." I held another spoonful to his lips.

Sighing Sam opened his mouth like a baby bird, letting the chips melt in his mouth.

"Hey, Dean."

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Better?"

"You check under the bed for monsters?" he whispered softly, eyes fluttering open and shut.

"You bet, buddy."

"Then better." He could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Sam, just get some rest the hospital gown pageant starts at six and I think you're a shoe-in. Just remember they open at the back," I laughed.

"Open at the back," Sam slurred. "Copy that."

Thirty seconds later, he was out cold. I sat back in the bedside chair contemplating the age old question: To drink or not to drink?

Alls well that ends well.


End file.
